


On Reflection

by Calliatra



Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Gen, Queer Themes, [Sidney Chambers/Geordie Keating]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliatra/pseuds/Calliatra
Summary: The inspector’s hat was in his hand, and his gaze flicked briefly between it and Leonard. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).



> A big thank you to Lilliburlero for their excellent beta-reading and britpicking services!

It wasn’t that the sight of Inspector Keating was an unusual one, precisely. In fact, he turned up at the vicarage with enough regularity that even Mrs M.’s disapproving frown had taken on more an air of routine these days. It was simply that he usually made his appearance either in company of Sidney, or in search of him. Immediately to be whisked away, or whisk him away in turn for some wild adventure, to be recounted in well-curated detail at some later date. This all resulted in a reliable pattern by which Leonard saw quite a lot of the man, but had never actually been called upon to exchange more than a bare minimum of polite phrases with him.

“Sidney isn’t here,” he said therefore, immediately upon opening the door. It seemed the central fact to establish. “He’s at a meeting of the parochial church council.”

“I know.” The inspector’s hat was in his hand – in preemptive deference to Mrs M., surely – and his gaze flicked briefly between it and Leonard. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

That seemed so strange and absurd a thing that Leonard barely suppressed a nervous laugh. He was increasingly growing accustomed to absurd situations, however – it seemed to be the inevitable result of simply existing in proximity to Sidney, and Leonard increasingly found he couldn’t honestly say that he minded – so he blinked, attempted to clear his mind of worried presuppositions, and bade the inspector step inside.

Keating’s eyes darted left, then right, checking for… what? Suspicious persons? Witnesses? “Thank you, but… how about we take a stroll, instead? With Dickens, by the Cam?”

Leonard blinked again, trying to formulate an adequate response. He was not a man who dealt well with the unexpected, however much practice he was getting in his current position.

“Certainly,” he said, a mite too late for perfect propriety, perhaps. He wondered if this was the inspector’s discreet way of handling criminal acts committed by acquaintances. Had he committed any crimes recently? Or even not so recently, perhaps? His memory served up a long list of sins committed and commandments broken, but nothing that would count as a crime in the eyes of a secular judge, surely. He swallowed. “He’s due his walk, anyway. I’ll get him.”

 

*  *  *

 

They walked along the grassy bank in silence, aside from Dickens’ occasional excited yaps. Leonard was used to silence generally, and the initial, embarrassed silence of parishioners seeking counsel on some delicate matter particularly, but it was not the style he was accustomed to seeing in Inspector Keating. Quite the contrary, even, perhaps, if he were to permit himself a somewhat uncharitable thought. However unusual it was, it seemed the conversational onus was to fall on him.

“Er, Inspector?” he began, attempting to tread carefully. “Was there anything in particular— I mean, any particular reason you wanted to speak to me?”

Inspector Keating did not look at him directly, but glanced up sideways from under the brim of his hat. Almost as though he were sizing him up, though to what end was a mystery to Leonard. Gauging a reaction, perhaps? Whatever this was, it wasn’t about any crimes, real or imagined, of Leonard’s.

“I, ah. Well. I was… thinking. And I was thinking that maybe you– that is, I’m not—”

“Inspector, have you been _drinking_?” The words escaped Leonard’s mouth before he could remind himself to keep it shut. He too often spoke too quickly, and yet never managed to when it might have been useful. Self-improvement in that department was an ongoing project.

“Is that what you think of me?”

It was a surly reply, and it told Leonard all he needed to know. Yes, there had been drinking, more than usual, but not as much as Sidney on his bad days. Enough for courage, then, or to loosen the tongue, but not enough to do something stupid. And suddenly he knew exactly what this was about. Why the inspector would want to talk to _him_ , of all people, and in private.

He wished he didn’t. He hadn’t been able to miss the signs – he had eyes, after all, and frankly he wondered how everyone else could possible fail to observe them – but it was hardly a topic he was comfortable conversing about. And, in all honestly, he had not expected it to come to this. Certainly not this quickly. Denial suited Inspector Keating like his worn trench coat – as his personal armor, and a firm warning to others to steer well clear. And Sidney, well, Sidney could usually be relied upon to address any personal matters either with drink and repression, or in the worst possible way, evading an outright trail of destruction only by sheer luck and his absurdly effortless charm.

So for the man to be here, now, with him… It was unexpected, to say the least. Leonard wondered if something had happened, or if perhaps the inspector was simply far more self-aware than he let on.

Leonard himself was a firm believer in self-examination and personal honesty. He knew what he was – and what he wasn’t, for that matter. And he believed in accepting what one could not change. But it was a long way from accepting something to speaking about it, and even if… the fact of the matter was that he had no answers to give.

“Oh, hell, this was a bad idea.” Inspector Keating stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and turned back towards the way they had come.

His back was a little hunched, his shoulders tense and resigned at the same time, and Leonard found himself viscerally reminded of the terrifying and lonely time when he had been struggling to make peace with himself.

“Inspector, wait!”

Keating stopped, and turned just halfway, looking ready to bolt at any minute. He darted a glance at Leonard that seemed to hold a mix of apprehension and barely-there hope.

“I find,” Leonard said, “that nothing is ever quite as frightening once it has a name.”

Keating looked at him blankly.

“What I mean is,” Leonard continued, wondering what untapped reserves he was drawing these words from, “that one sometimes thinks one doesn’t want to know, that not knowing is better. That one’s better off not knowing something. Safer. I, I think that sometimes. But in the end, in my experience, the, the fear of the unknown, of what it might be, is far worse than the thing itself.” He allowed himself a smile. “Almost anything in this world can be dealt with if you have good friends by your side, and faith in God’s grace. You just need to know what it is you are dealing with.”

“Right,” Keating said, with more consideration than his usual style of dismissal. “Thank you.” He made to turn away again.

“And, Inspector?” Leonard said quickly, hoping he wasn’t horribly overstepping his bounds. “I hope you know you have one in me. A, a friend, that is.”

Keating paused for a moment, as if to digest that. “Thank you,” he repeated, more warmly this time.

And Leonard found himself seized with a quite unfamiliar surge of optimism.

 


End file.
